Yesterday is a Kid in a Corner
by if.the.plane.goes.down
Summary: Kakashi Hatake is a mystery to those around him. Sometimes even to himself. The calm,cool,copycat nin is nothing like the man behind the mask.


What ever happened to the young man's heart

**What ever happened to the young man's heart? **

**Swallowed by pain as he slowly fell apart.**

Have you ever been hit by a freight train?  
Or thought about it at least? Toyed with the  
idea in the back of your mind? In lieu of the  
tangled mess your life has spun itself into. A  
web made out of chains. But with no lock, and  
no key either for that matter . You have to  
have thought about it once or twice. What if.  
you chanced to tip toe across that track at the  
crack of dawn in the shadow of the night thats  
been hanging over you for some time now. What if  
you danced down that metal line, feet toeing  
pebbles and cigarette butts offered up to the  
soil to be discarded, heard the shriek of the  
train in the distance, felt the Earth underneath  
you shake like Armageddon was rolling in, saw  
the body of that huge mechanic beast rumbling  
towards you...and decided not to move out of the  
way?

**I** promised myself that no matter how hard it got  
I'd never do it. I tell myself I've worked too  
hard. That there are plenty of people I can't  
disappoint, and even one person I want to forget  
One I don't ever want to be compared to. I  
promised myself I'd never take my own life. But  
sometimes like now, I think about some promises  
made to me over the years of my life, and how  
most of them were made and then broken.

This is where I end up most nights. On my knees  
in my bathroom. The tile floor is hard and  
unrelenting, even though I  
**AM** unstable and need something to be soft and  
gentle for me. Somehow I ended up shirtless.  
Somehow the toilet bowl has become the only  
shoulder I can lean on. My hands are shaking  
gripping it's porcelain curves, but I'm too  
afraid to let go. Too afraid of falling down  
into the black of unconsciousness. Too afraid  
of losing myself to it. My stomach heaves and I  
hear myself roar like a monster. My chin kisses  
the cool white of toilet seat and the couple  
bottles too many of sake I had, along with  
every other thing I've ever taken down in my  
life comes streaming out of my mouth. Dripping  
down into the emotionless toilet bowl water.  
Blurred now with my impurities. Staining my  
chin. I'm gasping. Dying. My stomach does  
another 360. Even though I thought there was no  
more left in me, hot juices bubble up, pressing  
their want for freedom against the backs of my  
teeth, and force themselves out between my lips.  
Down into the toilet bowl. A few strings of  
crimson mixed in. Well, what do you know?

I want to get up, but the world is moving too  
fast. My whole body shakes, now. Like my skin is  
full of bugs, flapping their mutilated wings  
with futile hopes of taking flight. I feel like  
someone cut me open and scraped out all my  
insides. The back of my throat is on fire.  
The ghosts of bile and stomach acids staining  
my tongue. My vision is blurring, and I think  
for a minute that I really am going to fall out.  
I sway, then grab the toilet bowl again and  
steady myself. Proving to some invisible enemy  
just how tough I am. Yeah, real tough.

I wipe my lips with the back of my hand as best  
I can, because its shaking like a wet dog, and  
it doesn't really feel like my hand anymore. It  
has a mind of its own, just keeps shaking,  
doesn't listen to what I say. Colors dance and  
blend in front of my eyes. I want to cry. But  
shinobi don't do that. Instead I close the  
toilet lid and rest my throbbing head on the  
white porcelain. Cold like cement snow against  
my face. My skin is on fire. I almost sob. Gulp  
instead. Pull in the ragged breaths of air that  
try to escape me. An oxygenated game of cat and  
mouse.

I think the waves of nausea are gone. For now.  
The pain's not. But what else is new? I try to  
stand too fast and slip on my nonexistent  
sobriety. My hand slams down into an empty  
bottle of sake. The one I downed(before it came  
back up) and set by the toilet to keep me  
company. The bottle shatters all over my hands,  
toothpicks of glass popping blood vessels. I  
feel the pain, but only slightly. The buzz from  
that faithful liquid hasn't completely left me  
yet. I'm careful though anyway when I push the  
pile of crushed glass behind the trashcan like  
I'm trying to hide a stash of cocaine. I stand  
up again. Slowly. Successfully. And feel like a  
child who's accomplished its first steps. I'm  
to afraid to look in the mirror. Sure that my  
eyes are bloodshot. Red and puffy. Not pretty.

I flush the last remnants of my drunkenness down  
the toilets, then turn on the sink. Want the tap  
to take my mind off things. Set the rhythm for  
something else. I wash the blood from my injured  
hand, then pick all the glass from my palm. Like  
pulling teeth. Some shards are in deeper than  
others. But sake is the best anesthesia. Its  
weird how I don't feel a thing even as I slide  
the tiny shards of glass out of skin that  
seperates to make way for it, and clingy cells  
of plasma. I feel nothing, but the woodpecker  
thats thumping out a merry tune between my eyes.  
Prelude to a hangover. The wound isn't really  
serious. Once the glass is all gone its just a  
labyrinth of little white zig zags of  
interrupted flesh. Those kinds of wounds heal. I  
wash my face, trying to wake me up some. Dip my  
hands down in the running tap water and bring it  
up to my skin. As if it could make me clean.

"Pull yourself together, Hatake." The man who  
speaks sounds nothing like me. My eyes catch  
sight reluctantly of the mirror, and I know  
before I dare a glance that the face looking back  
at me isn't mine. Its Sukomu Hatake instead. The  
sight of him should make me jump out of my skin.  
Nothing scares me much anymore. He comes around  
alot, though only when I'm like this. Half-sober.  
**HURTING** He smiles at me, though kind of sadly like a  
yellowed photograph. "You're just like me, son."  
Nope. I put my injured palm across his brow and  
smear fog across the mirror. When I move my hand  
away he's gone. And so is most of the buzz. Now  
I'm just empty. Flat. I feel the sunlight behind  
the curtains in the bathroom window. Young and  
just beginning.

I take a shower. Closing my eyes. Dreaming.  
Thinking. 'Copy-cat ninja.' 'Great Jonin.'  
'Kakashi's something special.' 'He's really  
something else.' I wonder what they'd think if  
they could see me now. 'He's going to turn out  
just like his father, Konoha's legendary white  
fang'. Thats my darkest nightmare. If only they  
knew how much I think about it. Think about there  
ever being one thing that could drive me to the  
edge of a blade pressed against my stomach.  
Therapeutic. And final.

If I could, I'd be someone different. Very  
different. With different thoughts and different  
actions. Not someone who has to hide behind an  
apathetic mask. Lazy eyed and smooth mannered,  
because inside I'm disheveled and falling apart.  
Yeah who would've thought?

I get dressed. I'm all the way sober, now.  
Feeling like I fell off Cloud 9 and hit the  
ground way too hard. My hand's starting to burn.  
I wrap it up, put my glove over the wound and  
ignore the pain. Showtime. I grab some toast out  
of my fridge on the way out, and shovel it in my  
mouth. Even though my gums feel like clumps of  
sand molded around dry bone teeth, and my tongue  
feels like thick alligator skin. Like I'm going  
kneel down and start upchucking again, any minute  
now.

A picture of me, Obito, Ren, and Yondaime  
Namikaze, sitting on my living room table gawks  
at me as I make my way out the door. I turn it  
facedown when I pass by, because I don't want  
Obito looking at me and what I am, now.

He's waiting for me when I get to the Memorial  
Monument though. They all are. I can't tell just  
how disappointed in me they are. I talk to them,  
but they don't have a lot to say back. May'be  
a few years ago I was someone Obito could've been  
proud of. But yesterday is a kid in a corner.  
Alone and abandoned and that likeable innocent  
Kakashi Hatake was buried the same day as Obito.  
I'm someone much different, now. I feel like we  
should switch places. Me and Obito. If the best  
I can ever do is live up to the shreds of a  
legacy my father left behind, then it'd be better  
off that way.

"There you are, Kakashi-sensai! We've been waiting  
around for you for hours! What are you doing  
here?!" One quick glance over my shoulder tells  
me that my team has discovered my sanctuary. I  
curse underneath my breath and can almost hear  
Obito's disappointed tsk-tsk in the way the wind  
whips the leaves off the trees. Life's too  
complex to really complain about I guess.  
"Kakashi-sensai?!" They're right next to me now,  
but its fine. I turn around to greet them,  
because I have my mask up now. And not just the  
one that I wear.

THE END

**I had a blast putting this together! Hoped that everybody liked it. Please rate and message me about it! I just thought there should be something more to Kakashi considering his past. And I thought it'd be interesting to...illustrate the person behind the mask this way. Well tell me what you think! More one shots coming up! .**


End file.
